Sundavrskular
by ArdanTheWolf
Summary: Some men and women are born with gift that allow them to surpass the rest. Some of these individuals do not realize this until the time for its use has already passed. Some, however, are blessed and cursed with a journey that never ends, where a seemingly life-changing event is merely a bump in the road. ExS, possible explicit content, language, violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Reborn**

* * *

It was one of the things that Eragon hated most. Constantly, during the war, it was all there was. _Waiting_. Just waiting for the unknown. When would Murtagh attack? When would the Empire send more of its hellish, painless soldiers? _Never_ knowing what he was waiting for, but _always_ having to do it.

It was not like the farm, or training with Oromis and Glaedr. During those times, he could wait for hours in calm and patience. Despite their many disagreements and criticisms, both of his ebrithil agreed that the Shadeslayer was a patient man, for his age. However, that was only because, in those places, he always knew what was coming next. In the morning in Carvahall, he would have his breakfast, milk the cows, then tend the field. In Ellesmere, he would shave, eat, then train. There was always some semblance of order.

However, with the Varden, in the war, there was no knowing what would happen. There was always something that could occur, something to fear. A surprise, waiting to strike. No one ever knew what would come the next day, or even if they would live to see it. He had thought that his back wound would have eliminated his fear and hate of the unpredictable, but in only enhanced it. All they could ever do was wait.

Just as Eragon had to do now.

The Talita was three weeks out. She had not seen land in half the time, as they sailed away from Alagaësia. The feeling of open sea was not exactly new to Eragon, but it unsettled him, nonetheless. It was horribly dangerous, with the sea creatures about, ready to feast.

Eragon banished the thought from his mind, instead focusing on his training. Three weeks of almost constant mental fortification made him a worthy opponent, able to defend his mind from many of the elves aboard. He was growing more and more powerful, surprising even the endlessly wise Eldunari. They agreed that his progress was astounding, and none knew what was making it so.

At this moment, Eragon was sitting, cross-legged, staring intently at one of the elves. She sat identically, staring into his eyes. Her name was Ekka, one of the strongest spell-casters aboard. They were both tense, and everyone was gathered around, mentally and/or physically.

She was good. Very good. Her defenses were strong, her attacks were sharp, and she was able to counter many of Eragon's own jabs. However, he could spot a fatal flaw in the way she was focused. She was wholly absorbed in the battle, her entire mind occupied by it. However, this total focus also meant that she was vulnerable to and outside attack. Without even a portion of her mind dedicated to expecting outside stimuli, anything could break her concentration. Something simple, like...

Without warning, Eragon slammed his palm against the deck, startling the woman. He used this to slip through her defenses, and drain a great deal of energy. Not enough to harm, but enough to simulate the result of an actual battle. She understood that, had Eragon been a rival magician, she would have died. They stood, still facing each other.

"A good fight, Shadeslayer," she stated, bowing deeply. Eragon did the same, a light grin on his face.

"Indeed, Ekka-Elda. However, I would advise that you keep an ear alert for what is around you." She would not have made that mistake during the war. The crowd of elves dispersed, as did the minds of the Eldunari. Eragon's smile faded, replaced by an irritated scowl.

Everyone was growing too relaxed. The war had ended only weeks ago, and the elves were making mistakes like that. It seemed as if everyone on this damn boat had lost their minds! Well, everyone except...

_Saphira_, called Eragon, mentally. He could feel her nearby, but she was out of sight.

_Little one?_ she asked, and he could sense some glee from her end. Happiness had been rare since her parting with Fìrnen, so feeling any amount was refreshing

_Where are you?_ he asked, looking around. This particular feeling he was sensing from her was definitely mischief. _Oh, gods._

_I'm about to come back down, though you may want to jump._ Her answer was odd, but Eragon knew what is likely meant. She was going to-

A roard sounded to the east, and Eragon had one choice. He leapt high into the air, using magic to create a thin, strong barrier between him and any fast-moving, sharp objects. Just as he had expected, a massive, blue blur shot below him. Using his enhanced elven reaction-speed, he grabbed onto one of the alabaster spikes on her back. He braced his arm before the jolt of sudden motion hit him, rocking his entire body.

He managed to hold on, as the dragoness slowed her flight. The ship was already out of sight, but Eragon cared not. He had wanted to be off of that deck for days, but never gave himself time. Pulling himself to his spot on her back, he whispered a few words to protect his legs from her rough scales.

_Good morning, little one, _greeted Saphira. _How was your duel?_

_As well as can be expected, _responded the Shadeslayer. _I'm not sure how I'm getting so much stronger._

_Perhaps your mind is becoming clear, _she suggested. _There was always something clouding your thoughts during the war. I can feel the mist in your head settling._ It was true. Having recently, finally made peace with their decision to leave Alagaësia, his mind felt more at ease than it had since Saphira hatched.

_Maybe you're right._ He began to rub her neck, earning a satisfied rumble from the dragon. She loved being scratched, rubbed, and any other kind of physical attention from him. Recently, her reactions to his gestures had grown more pronounced, having nearly crushed him more than once. A comment about her rolling over like a dog, while accurate, had irritated her immensely, and caused some level of passive aggression for a while. However, she quickly got over the strike to her vanity, knowing that the only ones they really had left were each other.

Oh, the elves and Eldunari were a help. However, aside from Glaedr and, to some extent, Blödhgarm, none of them had really surpassed the title of guard or ebrithil. Most of the elders could barely speak in any comprehensible fashion, and the elves were very reserved around Eragon. Even after everything they had been through and the many things he had done, he still wasn't sure if they trusted him.

For a while, the Rider and dragon enjoyed blissful silence, until Saphira exclaimed something that Eragon had been waiting for for weeks.

_I-is that land!? _she asked , surprised. The Rider immediately looked through her eyes and, sure enough, saw a thin line of trees in the distance. A wide, excited grin spread across his face as he gaze upon their destination.

_Should we? _he asked.

_I believe so. We can always head back to the ship to tell them about it later. Besides, that boat is ever so slow. Waiting in anticipation would be torture._

_Torture, eh? That's a bit extreme, coming from the dragon who scolded me for using similar phrasing after being stuck learning about swords for hours._

_Bah!_

* * *

Once they finally arrived at the shore, they were blown away by what they saw. Once, when traveling to meet the Varden for the first time, he had mistook the Beor mountains for a foggy skyline, due to their enormous height. Now, he made the same mistake. Towering mountains surrounded a small valley, appearing to be nearly as tall as the Beors. A heavily forested valley lay between them all, populated with an abundance of exotic flora and fauna.

Many plateaus extended from the mountains, large enough to have small forests growing from them. The greenery, different elevations, and many waterfalls made the entire land appear more beautiful and strange than anything he'd ever seen.

_Quite the landscape, _commented Saphira. _Suitable, perhaps? _Eragon took a moment to untangle his tongue, speechless.

"Indeed," he stated. They landed on one of the many plateaus, a large one overlooking much of the valley. It would have been completely serene, if not for Saphira hunting some wild elk. Eragon watched as she swooped down, grabbing the meaty creature with her talons. Viewing the hunt gave him an odd surge of excitement. He had never felt such a rush before, as he saw her tear into the carcass of her prey.

_Enjoying the show, little one? _she asked, amused by his awed expression. _Since Ellesmere, you've not shown much interest in the hunt. Perhaps you'd like to participate?_

_Perhaps I would, _slipped Eragon's mind, as he instinctually desired joining her. She heard him, and the rare look of surprise appeared on her face.

_Truly? _she asked._ And just why have you suddenly rekindled your desire to hunt? He had no idea._

_I'm not sure_, he responded. _It's been so long... _At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel the intensity of the hunt, and rush of the kill. To feel what he could sometimes faintly sense through his bond with Saphira, whenever she would go for food. Elf customs and morals be damned. He had saved the world, he deserved a gods-damned piece of meat.

_Well, I could take you, _offered the dragon. _On one condition._

_And what would that be, O illustrious Saphira?_

_If you'll hunt with a dragon, you'll hunt as a dragon._

* * *

Saphira shot over the trees, leaving them trembling in her wake. Eragon positioned himself precariously on her back, no strapped down, relying on his strong, elf legs to keep his steady. In his hand was a hunting dagger, which he always had strapped to his boot. Saphira was adamant that he had to use no tool grander than a knife, as dragons had nothing more than their own bodies to hunt with.

She was completely silent, allowing him to search for the prey with his own senses, and subconsciously alter her direction as he did. Eventually, he sensed a full-grown elk, secluded from his group. Perfect prey.

Eragon had only a short opportunity to strike. Saphira was flying quickly, and he would have to leap down to kill the elk. Less than a second was his window, more than enough. As Saphira shot over the clearing where the prey lay, Eragon jumped from her back. Aiming his dagger downward, the Rider landed on its back, driving the blade into its skull with perfect precision. The unfortunate creature died almost instantly , collapsing beneath the half-elf's momentum.

As Eragon stepped away from his fresh kill, he smiled. Even having entered the mind and felt the death of such creatures, he found pleasure in such efficient hunting. He swelled with pride in the quickness of the kill. As Saphira landed, she was surprised to see Eragon cutting a piece of bloody, raw meat from his kill.

_Will you not cook it, first? _she inquired, curious of his actions.

_I hunted as a dragon does. Perhaps I should eat as one, as well? _His voice carried a seemingly familiar tone that she could not place. Somehow, it reminded her of herself, but at the same time, felt completely alien to her. In her pondering, she almost did not see her Rider bite into the meat.

Eragon had never tasted something so delicious. The meat he had been given the pleasure of eating had always been dried, salted, and drained of any real flavor. This venison was full of taste, juicy, and fed his strange bloodlust like catnip. As the blood flowed down his throat like wine, he could feel a strange sensation throughout his body. Like he was waking from a deep sleep that had dominated his life. Like he had finally plucked a long needle from his side. Like none of the problems if yesterday were real, and all that mattered was tomorrow.

He felt as if he had been _reborn._

* * *

Just so you know, that last section is what I like to call** EPIC FORESHADOWING!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay**, first off: you'll understand next chapter why I skipped ten years. Second, you'll have to bear with me on the pacing. I know it's fast, but there are some things that need to go down. Next chapter should be out pretty goddamned soon.

* * *

**Shadeslayer**

* * *

Quiet. The prey cannot know of the predator's presence. This was something Eragon knee a thing or two about. He was no dragon; he could not swoop down from the sky and claim his supper. No, he had to stalk and hunt as a man.

Elk were in abundance on the plateaus. Below were the rivers, and above were the mountains. So, there was enough food for he and Saphira both.

Loosing an arrow, he grinned as the elk fell. Running to his catch, the rider wasted no time in beginning his meal. Eating the meat raw was something he rarely was able to enjoy, due to the scorn he had received from the elves last time they had witnessed it.

He could not help it. Even the Eldunari had no answers when he asked why he could no longer consume anything but meat. Even bread made him sick, and vegetables were impossible to keep down. They seemed nervous whenever he spoke of it. Their recent behavior made him incredibly suspicious. Some of the elder dragons were incoherent from age, some were recovering from madness, and some were still mad. However, none of them were ever like this before, in the ten years since the end of the war.

Well, it matte

* * *

red not. At least one person seemed to be enjoying his new self. Saphira had taken a liking to her rider's new ferocity. When they would go hunting together, he could not deny the closeness. It was a feeling he suspected many riders would go an eternity without, due to their vegetarian ways.

Speaking of riders, Nasuada had sent word several months ago ago of a something great finally happening. Four eggs had hatched. Strangely, they all hatched on the same day to young members of each race. They would be arriving any day now, having completed their basic training with Arya. Like it or not, Eragon was the most experienced rider in the world, and even Arya's training was but a stepping stone to his.

He was also one of the most powerful spellcasters in the world, to a dangerous extent. Only he and Murtagh, knew the Name of Names. Of course, he had a slight edge over his brother, as Galbatorix had taught him very little about magic relative to Oromis. The most he had taught him was the Name of Names, but more was needed to properly utilize such a power.

He had to ensure that neither he nor his brother ever turned the way Galbatorix had. They were too powerful. If one of them wanted to destroy the order, they could do so easily, eliminating the bonds between any rider and dragon they wished. Eragon would die before he allowed such power to be used like that.

But now was no time to think of such things. He needed to return to the Elves. They were much more relaxed now that the Citadel had been completed. It was a massive construction, wove from the towering trees of a great plateau between five towering mountains. Beneath it were rushing rapids that weaved through caves and out into the open at breakneck speeds. This provided some defense, as no creature that traveled by land could cross.

Getting the elves and our ship on that thing was a right pain in my ass, thought the rider.

Eventually, Eragon arrived at the Citadel. He had been gone for a few hours, and the Elves had only just finished their day of work. The grand hall had been completed years ago, with a long carpet of woven vines leading to a great throne of roots with a space for a dragon several times Saphira's size next to it.

Eragon hated the idea of thrones, but he would have to put up with it. He was the Headmaster of the Order of Riders. This position was possibly the grandest in the world. He would have to deal with the elevations that came with it.

Ascending to the throne, he sat. His first thought was that it was a damned uncomfortable chair. His second was that he would have to deal with this for the rest of time. He had never actually sat in it, and now realized that he didn't like it.

Instead, he elected to visit his chambers. He could feel that Saphira was there, waiting. He did not know why she was waiting for him. The hour was late, and she normally would be asleep. He cautiously opened the door, surprised to see Saphira staring intently at him.

"H-Hello, Saphira." She didn't even blink. He was nervous. She would not respond, only stare. He slowly came closer, until he was within reaching distance of her massive nose. He slowly reached out, barely touching her before she reacted with one of the strangest things he had heard from her in weeks.

I am sorry, little one.

Without another word, she grabbed him in her front-right claw, leaping into the air through the hole in the roof. He panicked and screamed and demanded to be released, but she would not listen. He sensed no rage, only fear. This only terrified him more. What was she so afraid of?

They continued their ascent into the sky, until the air was thin and the clouds beneath them. When it was almost too cold to bear, they stopped rising.

Then, Saphira did something he would never have expected, even in his worst nightmares. After a great deal of inner turmoil, she dropped him. He stopped making any sound, too shocked.

His dragon, his best friend and the love of his life. The other half of his heart and soul. The one creature in the world that he believed he could truly trust, had dropped him.

And what was worse, he could not stop the falling. Somehow, he could not reach the magic in his mind. It was not lost, only out of reach.

At that moment, he felt many emotions. Anger, fear, even hate. However, none of them compared to the primal urge to survive. He would not be killed like this. Not without knowing why. He still loved his dragon, deep down in his heart, even if all he could feel for her at the moment was hatred.

It was this hate and fear and survival instinct that unlocked something in him. Something he had felt since they first arrived at this new land ten years ago. Something great and terrible.

And at that moment, he opened his eyes. His once-brown, human eyes, that were now silver and slit like those of a dragon.

* * *

Oooooooh, ominous.


	3. Chapter 3

_**So, **part of the reason I've been dead for so long is because I've been reading a lot of shit. I was trying to get inspiration, and I found it in A Song of Ice and Fire. So, if you notice a bit of similarity, that's why. I'll try to refrain from adding a hulking oaf who can only say one word._

* * *

**Lord Stronghammer**

* * *

It had taken some time, nine years in fact. Carvahall was rebuilt into a walled town, and a small castle was erected on the hill overlooking it. Many war refugees, soldiers, and other displaced souls had found their way to the once-small village. Nearly one thousand souls, all living under the castle.

All living under Roran.

The people still called him Stronghammer, just with a 'Lord' in front of it. He was a mighty warrior, but had never been one for politicking. However, it was not only the Queen, but his own people who forced him into it. They needed a strong leader, and he was said to be one of the strongest men alive. Of course, this legend had a bit of factual support. Nearly two hundred men slain single-handedly in one battle, fifty lashes, and success in wrestling a damned Urgal. Some people would spread that out over a few weeks.

Now, he walked through his town, watching his people as they went about their business. It was a tradition of lords in this province, as the more hardened men of the north, to wear iron in place of silk. So, he donned chainmail under a black, leather doublet. It was not the mightiest of armor, but it would do in a pinch.

His sigil was a white hammer on a black field. The people took this with pride, emblazoning their homes and items with the hammer. It became not only the symbol of Stronghammer, but the symbol of Carvahall.

He was one of the most beloved lords in the history of Palancar Valley. Whether he liked it or not, any of these simple villagers would fight for him. Many would die for him. Horst and his kin, especially. The old blacksmith was a close friend, and the hammer was as much his as Roran's.

As he walked into the market, Stronghammer could not help but think of tomorrow. He had a big job. A dangerous job. One that he could not trust to anyone else. The last time someone took the task, it started a war.

He was to bring two dragon eggs to Carvahall, to see if any of his subjects were destined to join the order. If not, he would hold them for five years, until it was time to send them to the Urgal clans. Then, two years later, they would be sent to the dwarves. Then to the elves. Each race would have a pair at all times, rotating quinquennially. This would allow a new generation to emerge every time a pair returned.

This was exceedingly dangerous. Many independent factions still wanted eggs. Especially what remained of the old loyalists. They would kill and die for even a chance to keep an egg from the Varden.

The Varden had not been dissolved as most believed. They were now a widespread order of guardians, tasked with keeping the peace and rooting out enemies of the Kingdom. They were spies, warriors, and assassins, each able to contribute to the crown in their own way. They were not, however, arbitrary. They required absolute proof and permission from the queen herself before arresting or executing an enemy of the crown. They were kept secret from the general populace out of fear that their purpose would be misinterpreted as an army of killers that answered to no-one but Nasuada.

He would be traveling with a group of nine Varden. Two magicians, one kull, and one dwarf. The rest were regular humans of various professions. Each of them were loyal beyond question, and would fall on their swords to protect the eggs, if need be.

But Roran could not think of such things today. It was getting late, and he had things to do. His effects had been packed earlier, and Katrina would take over for him while he was gone. He had no real work to speak of, and thus could spend time with his family.

Being a lord was no small task. Palancar Valley was a difficult place to live in, with bandits and murderers making their home in the Spine and periodically raiding villages. None of them dared come near Carvahall, but that was but a small part of his domain. On better days, the amount of people who came to court was less than fifty. This was a large number, seeing as the northwest was not a greatly inhabited place.

He also had to oversee trade with the Elves, a new business that had developed after the war. A few always came along with the traveling merchants now that the Broddring Kingdom was no longer persecuting their kind. They seemed young for their kind, full of life and passion. They often put on magical displays and sold exotic items.

Due to their numbers being so few after the war, the Elves required aid. Having rekindled its farming market, Carvahall was a great supplier of food to all corners of Alagaesia, including Du Weldenvarden. Luckily, Roran did not have to handle all of this by himself. A former traveller by the name of Tess had settled down nearby not long ago, and quickly became Roran's master of trade. She handled most of the specifics, coming to him with the most important details and decisions. A good thing, seeing as the closest he had ever come to selling something was farming the product itself.

Ending his musings on the state of things, he entered the castle. It was not particularly large, but was sturdy and had enough room to hold an army. Walking out through a door on the west side, he found Katrina in the garden. She spent a lot of time out here, and it showed. Beautiful foliage grew all around her. She was kneeling, her hands clasped in prayer. After everything that happened during the war, she found solace in religion.

"Who is it that you pray to this time?" he asked, waiting a few moments for her to finish. When she did, she stood, turning to face him.

"Sindri, the dwarven goddess of earth." She walked over, embracing her husband. "When Angela visited last month, she told me that this winter would be a truly terrible one. I pray that our harvest is plentiful, go sustain us." Roran smiled, caressing her face. After all he had seen, the only god he believed in was Angvard, the god of death,

"You can't fear a fortuneteller's warnings," he stated, softly.

"Angela doesn't make mistakes," she responded. "Besides, I do not fear a cold winter. We have survived worse, and rebuilt for the better." She was walking through the garden now, looking at the plants.

"How is Ismira?" asked Roran. Katrina chuckled lightly, brushing her hand against a flower.

"Hot-headed and temperamental. She is possessed by the idea to become a warrior." She sighed. "I should not have allowed her to spend a day with Angela. The woman filled her head with stories that make her even more difficult."

"Hm, Ismira Stronghammer. Now that's a name the bards could sing." He chuckled, grabbing his wife before she could pass him again. She smiled, but it did not seem as joyful as he would have hoped. "Something troubles you. What is it?"

It took some time for Katrina to answer. "The last time someone transported an egg, it started a war. You will be gone for months. Every moment of that, I will fear never being able to see you again."

"Katrina," he whispered, gently holding her chin up to look him in the eye. "I went to hell and back for you. I survived everything from dragons the size of castles to men who could not be killed. Delivering an egg will be a menial task in comparison."

"I know you have been through worse, and I felt like this then, too. But now you have a daughter who knows you. During the war, she had no memories at all. If you leave us now, never to return, she will be devastated." He suddenly understood. She was not afraid for him only, but for their daughter. Ismira was a proud girl, but she loved her father fiercely.

"I will return. I promise you. I will return so you can continue to have me as your husband, and Ismira can continue to have me as her father."

* * *

Why bother studying when there were such adventures to be had? She wanted to be like her father, the Stronghammer. She wanted to slay a thousand men in battle, and fight off hordes Urgals with her hands alone. She wanted to live up to her father's legend, but there was something more.

Above all else, she wished to be a Rider. To be like her uncle, Eragon. To fly into battle on the back of a magnificent beast and rain fire upon her foes. She wanted to use magic and wield powerful weapons.

Right now, she was practicing with her wooden sword. Well, it was more a long stick tied to a short stick that functioned as a crossguard, but it would do. She swung it about, imagining evil men and monsters falling to her steel. She would call her sword the Bloodbringer, and it would live up to its name.

"Ah, a true warrior, at ten years old." She turned to find her father standing behind her, smiling. Returning the expression, she ran towards him, jumping into his strong arms.

"Papa!" she exclaimed, laughing as he held her into the air and spun her around. She was a strong girl, heavy from muscle, but he was a much stronger man. He held her with ease. Carrying her to bed, he leapt in beside her. He loved his little warrior like none he had ever known. The only person who could match this love was Katrina, but she was his wife. This was different. He had watched this child grow from a mewling babe into a fiery young lass. She took after her grandfather and uncle, with their brown eyes and hair, but followed them all with her spirit, stubborn as an ox. The only area that she seemed to take after her mother in was her beauty. She was nearly a copy of her mother, and Roran could see that she would make a prize that men from across Alagaesia would attempt to win.

And none would succeed. None would be worthy of his daughter.

"So, what was it this time? Trolls? Kulls?" He smiled as she recounted the enemies she vanquished, rambling on about the mistakes they made and the openings she exploited.

"Is it true that you are going to see the Elves tomorrow?" she asked in her sweet, curious voice.

"And who told you that?" he asked.

"Angela," she answered. "She told me last time she was here, but made me promise not to tell anybody. She said it was a secret."

"It is a secret," he said, growing serious. "You must tell nobody, even after I leave."

"So you ARE going to see the Elves? Oh, can I come? Please?"

"No, Ismira," he responded. "It is a dangerous path we take. You must stay here with your mother." When he noticed her smile turn into a despairing frown, he could not resist. "But one day, when you are older, perhaps I will take you to the Elves."

She brightened up instantly. "Really? You promise?"

"I promise, my sweet. When you are old enough to ride and fight, we will go to Ellesmere and you will meet Queen Arya and her dragon, Fírnen." He knew how interested in dragons she was. The girl could barely contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing one up close. "Now, get some sleep, little warrior. I want you up early to see me off with your mother, tomorrow." He hugged his daughter, before rising from the bed and leaving the room.

* * *

The next day, most of the town had no idea what was happening. They went about their daily tasks while only a few people came to see their lord off. Katrina and Ismira were there, obviously, as was Horst. He had prepared Roran's armor, which now covered the Stronghammer's body. It was mostly chainmail, with steel boots, gauntlets, and a cuirass. They would ride hard for Ellesmere, to the east.

However, his plans were cut short by sudden news from Jacob, his steward. He told Roran that a woman was here to see him, and she asked for him to come alone. The boy had not seen her face, but she had a cart full of goods. At first, Roran told him to take the matter to Tess, as this was an obvious trader. However, he was adamant that the mysterious woman had asked for him, and him alone.

And so, he answered her call. Suspicious, he kept his hand on his hammer as he entered the courtyard, where she was. Her wagon was outside, with two strong, white horses. He had ordered that no-one search it until he spoke to its owner. He believed he knew who this was, and that the news that came with her was either great or terrible.

"Roran," said a familiar voice. "It's been far too long." The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a beautiful woman with pointed ears and raven hair. Roran knelt before his visitor.

"Your Grace. We were not expecting you." He had taken some grasp of formalities since his rise to nobility, but it still felt odd to kneel before an old companion. Obviously, she didn't like it either.

"Oh, rise. I cannot stand when people kneel before me. Especially not you, Stronghammer. And do not call me 'your grace' or 'my lady' or any other title." He did as she wished, more relaxed now that he saw that she disliked her position as much as he did his.

"What brings you this far west, Arya? Has something happened in Ellesmere?" For what may have been the first time ever, he saw a smile appear on the elven queen's lips.

"Oh, yes, something has happened. Something wonderful. An egg hatched." Roran was shocked. Everyone had hoped for such a thing to happen, but no one expected it.

"For the Elves, I assume?"

"For the Elves, Dwarves and Urgals. Three eggs have hatched within a month, and this is the last human town to receive them. We believe that there is some sort of correlation between these hatchings, and that the probability of a future rider living in Carvahall is strong." Roran was surprised again. Arya, the queen of the Elves, had come alone and brought the eggs to Carvahall after one had hatched for each of the other races.

"Should I gather the town?" he asked.

"Indeed. It would be best if I do not stay long. Fírnen will be furious if I am out of sight for too long." Mentioning her dragon brought a smile to Arya's lips. He meant the world to her. Roran had seen the same connection between Eragon and Saphira. Riders were truly blessed with such companionship.

* * *

Three dragon eggs were placed in three pedestals. Everyone in Carvahall came to touch them, and see if they were destined to ride the creatures within. Even Roran and Katrina did so, but the eggs were like stones.

The children were the last to come. Many filed through, but not one was destined. That is, until one small child came along. She rubbed her hand against the first egg, red and black like molten rock. Then the second, a pure-white one which shone like diamond. Finally, the third, a black egg smaller than the rest. When she touched this egg, it began to move under her hand.

It shook and cracked until a piece broke off, causing the entire crowd to silence. Only hushed whispers could be heard as the egg hatched, revealing a pitch-black hatchling. As is blindly stumbled out of what remained of its egg, the whispers stopped, and all of Carvahall was silent.

Arya went to the child, which Roran had yet to see the face of. She knelt before her, holding her hand and guiding it to the head of the dragon. A bright flash encompassed the crowd, and Roran had to see who the child was. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, closely followed by Katrina. When he saw who it was, his eyes went wide and Katrina gasped loudly, tears coming to her eyes.

The ten-year-old girl before them, with the gedwëy ignasia on her palm, was none other than Ismira Stronghammer.

* * *

_**Oh lordy.** That's gonna be sad times for ol' Roran and Katrina. _


	4. Chapter 4

**_Jaryd_**

* * *

_**This chapter** introduces a new character, who I find very interesting, personally._

_Also, there is a brief, explicit scene towards the end of this chapter. Just warning you now. I'm not breaking the pace to warn you later._

* * *

Such a beautiful night in Teirm. The moon was glowing, the thieves were stealing. The damned ex-soldiers trying desperately to ignite hatred for the new Queen in a populace that loved her. Angvard take them all.

Life had gotten better in Teirm since Galbatorix was killed. Over the past nine years, new trade had opened with cities across Alagaesia and beyond. Hell, some ships had even travelled to the west, mapping out entirely new parts of the world. Such had never been a focus under the Empire, but the Kingdom wanted to gain knowledge of the world previously thought pointless.

Ever since that Rider, Eragon, had described is discoveries to the Queen, she was fixated on the pursuit of knowledge. Apparently, the goddamned world was round. It made sense to Jaryd, but a lot of the "great thinkers" thought it ludicrous.

Then again, Jaryd was no "great thinker." Neither was the man whose skull was currently occupied by his dagger. He was a rapist and a murderer, the dead man. An ugly fellow with no name, but enough gold to last Jaryd a long time. Angvar was pleased, for Jaryd felt nothing for the man whose blood coated his knife. The god of death would force guilt upon the killer who ended the wrong life.

Yes, Jaryd was a servant of death, the one god he knew to be real. The only god he had seen and heard, albeit not voluntarily. He only believed in what he saw, and would never allow himself to unsee death. Every time he looked into the blood drawn from a man, he would see Angvar looking back at him, emotionless.

"Perhaps Jaryd must leave this place," said Jaryd. He promptly exited through the ajar window he had entered through. Perhaps a drink was warranted. The work of the black god made men thirsty for more than blood.

And so, the man made his way to the nearest tavern, the Thirsty Nïdhwal. An upbeat place full of singing men and bawdy women. It doubled as a whorehouse in all but name, but Jaryd had no interest in such pursuits. The whores of Teirm did not need his business; they received plenty of coin from lustful sailors. The objectification of women and exploitation of their cunts did not please Jaryd, besides.

He pushed open the doors, greeted by the warmth of hearty laughter, strong wine, and plenty of light to ward off the darkness of night. Walking to the bar, he was greeted by a jovial man of great girth.

"Welcome, my boy, to the Thirsty Nïdhwal, named for the beast that took my leg, and all the blood in it. And who might you- ah, Jaryd!" He had not been focusing on his employee, instead staring at the young women behind him.

"Orys, how many times must you tell Jaryd of the sea-snake? He has heard it so many times." The fat man laughed a booming laugh, slapping his belly in glee.

"My apologies, my boy. I am a simply man with simple desires, and those desires often get the better of me. Though, you wouldn't know of such things, would you?" Jaryd's eyes narrowed at the comment, and the smile faded from Orys's lips.

"Be careful where you tread, Orys. You may be a friend of Jaryd, but he has killed or such comments." A lie. The black god would not allow him to kill for such trivial matters.

"I am sorry, truly. I sometimes forget where the boundaries lie, and say things that should be left unsaid. Forgive me." Despite his many shortcomings, the man was good one. A good friend.

"Jaryd cannot hold a grudge when so sincere an apology is given. But, perhaps a free drink would ease the pain caused by your scalding words?" Orys laughed again, nodding.

"I'd figured it would come to this," he laughed. "I suppose I do owe you, boy. You've done right by me for years. I suppose a few bottles of red would be little in comparison. He reached below the counter, pulling our a sizable bottle of crimson wine and a fine glass. Likely alien to half of the rum-guzzling sailors here, and disgusting to the other.

"A fine gift, Orys. Jaryd will savor its taste." With a friendly smile, he took the bottle and the glass, leaving his large friend to tend to his bar. Retreating to an empty table at the far corner of the bar, he began to enjoy his drink. After a glass, he barely felt a change. Good. He did not enjoy being drunk as so many others did. It dulled the senses. If Angvar called on him in such a state, he would be unable to answer with ease.

"Ooh, what a handsome man," stated a breathy, feminine voice. "And one with such fine taste in drink. Jaryd did not look up from his glass, still swirling the fluid within it around. He did not like being approached by seductresses. At least this one was out for his coin, and not his cock.

"A quiet man, too. Silent and handsome. Two better than most of the men in here." She sat down next to him, pulling her chair close to his side. "What is his name, quiet man?" She had an accent that would be exotic to any other man, but in matched Jaryd's own. An accent from an obscure island to the west called Ternabis, marked by gratuitous accentuation of s's r's.

"This man's name is Jaryd, and he knows that the woman wishes for something." He finally looked at her. She matched him, in many ways. They both had long, black hair and skin darker than most in Alagaeisa. Her eyes were green while his were grey, however, and she had a scar running across her right cheekbone.

"They say that those born with a left sword-arm are doomed to an early death," he stated. "Jaryd hopes that the one who did that to the woman will be an example for such stories." He took another sip of his wine. The woman looked surprised.

"Jaryd is a smart one," she said, smiling. "The man who hurt this woman will be held up as a cautionary tale to left-handed children for many years, after the revenge this woman took." The smile that graced her lips told Jaryd that Angvar had wished for the revenge.

"And what is the woman's name?" asked Jaryd, suddenly interested in she who shared his birthplace. Any woman who could kill with the black god's blessing was worthy of any man's attention.

"This woman's mother called her Avia, though her father called her nothing." Tragic.

"And why does Avia approach Jaryd? He had assumed that she was after his coin or his cock, but the woman seems too smart for such pursuits. She sees that Jaryd could not give either if he wished." Her hand quickly reached forward, grabbing his crotch.

"Jaryd is an interesting man, though some would hesitate to call him one. When was he cut?" Jaryd grabbed her arm, pushing it away.

"When he was a boy," he answered. "He was cut by a man who wished for longer life. The man believed that sacrifice to the black god would grant his wish, but that death would not please he who embodied it. He caused Jaryd pain instead.

"But Angvar cannot be dissuaded. When he was being prepared for torture, Jaryd heard the black god's voice. He told the boy to slip his hand through the sloppily tightened strap, and he did. He took the man's knife, and gave his first life to the god who claims all." Avia was silent for some time, taking in the story.

"The man has a painful story," she said, at last. "Avia is sorry for asking of it."

"The woman must not be sorry. This man would not have revealed it if he did not wish to. He may have consumed more wine than he intended." Avia laughed at this.

"Perhaps he has," she agreed. "Though, with such a painful price, a man deserves as much wine as he can drink."

* * *

Killing was easy, when the black god permitted. Loving was hard, as Angvar had nothing to do with it. A year had passed, and the back god had received less and less over the course of it.

Jaryd stood from his bed, putting on a pair of old trousers and waking to the balcony. He looked over Teirm, watching as men and women began to exit their homes to begin their days under the sunrise.

He would normally be asleep at this hour, reliving the moments that gave him the many scars that covered his muscular body. He had shaved his head and grown a beard months ago when someone witnessed him fleeing from a kill gone wrong. He had underestimated the amount of guards his quarry had employed. He managed to put most of them to sleep with poison, but one remained awake, a lad whom Angvar did not demand the life of.

"You are troubled, my heart," came a voice from behind. Referring to others directly was something those of Ternabis only did if they were close friends. Referring to oneself in the first person, however, was only done in the presence of lovers, children, and parents.

The woman who spoke approached him, reaching her arms around him, hugging him from behind. She stood on her toes to place her chin on his shoulder, pressing her naked body against him. She was truly a beautiful woman, and Jaryd imagined he would find her irresistibly alluring, if such was a thing he could feel.

"I am changed, my love," he stated. "I have not done my duty to Angvar in months."

"You mustn't focus on the black god all the time. There is plenty of death in the world to satiate him." She kissed his neck, and he felt the wetness between her thighs press against the back of his leg. She was full of desire, even though he was not truly a man.

He turned, locking his lips with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself as close as possible to him. Her breasts pushed up against his chest, making her moan into his mouth at the pressure. He had learned how to pleasure her, kissing and squeezing and rubbing in the perfect places.

He grabbed her thighs and lifted her up. She locked her legs around him, still holding him as tightly as possible. Once they were at the bed, Jaryd fell on top of his lover, ending their kiss. He slowly kissed down her body, briefly stopping at the breasts, and then proceeding downwards. Eventually, he reached his final destination, and kissed Avia in such a way that made her scream his name for all the city to hear.

* * *

"Perhaps the man is joking?" asked Jaryd. "What he suggests would be folly. The black god would not allow a man to live to gain immortality if he were to die so soon."

"I don't give a damn about your gods, islander. I demand the life of the Red Rider, for what he did to my family. Will you give it to me, or must I find another?"

"The man will find no other capable of such a task," informed the killer. "This man can do as is asked, but he does not know if Angvar will permit it."

"Who cares what Angvar wants? I have gold enough to buy a city, and you are an assassin."

"He is death, and will not allow a life to end if it must continue. This man will consider your request, but can promise no more."


	5. Chapter 5

Shadowscale

* * *

Eragon's eyes opened slowly. He was sore to the extreme, unable to move without pain. It felt as if he had fallen from a great height, and just barely survived. He felt odd, but alive.

'Sundavrskular,' whispered a voice into Eragon's mind. 'Shadowscale.'

'What?' asked the Shadeslayer, unsure whom he was speaking to.

'My name is Uriax,' stated the voice. 'I was lost in my own mind, but now I have returned. The tortures inflicted by the traitor-king drove me to madness, but your awakening has restored my sanity.' Eragon began to feel the presence of the other elders. They all seemed to be in awe of this voice, and he could understand why. It was immensely powerful, and felt older than anything the young rider had ever known.

'Awakening, ebrithil?' asked Eragon. 'I am afraid I do not understand.'

'Of course you do not,' stated Uriax. 'Few of us do, and those who do barely scratch the surface of true understanding. In order for you to understand, you must first experience change as you did one month ago.'

'One month?'

'Indeed. You have been asleep for some time.' Realization suddenly dawned on Eragon. He had been asleep for a month, and did not even remember what caused it.

'Ebrithil, what happened to me?' The rider received no answer, but was given something else. A massive surge of energy rushed through his body, expelling the aches and pains. He felt fresh, but still strange. Standing up, he felt the elder dragon willing him to walk outside. Not questioning, he did.

Walking through the forest, he came across a clearing he had often meditated at. However, to his surprise, a massive crater filled the area. He felt strangely pained upon seeing it, as if looking at a blade that had cut him.

'Step into the crater,' ordered Uriax. Obeying his elder, Eragon walked to the center of the crater, an odd feeling in his heart as he came closer. Once he was at the center, the feeling turned to a tugging at his heart, as if something was trying yo burst out of his body.

'Uriax, I feel-' before he could finished, he keeled over in pain, falling to his knees.

'Eragon, you must unleash yourself. Forgo this human body for now, and experience true power, if only briefly.' At his words, Eragon's instinct kicked in. Without thought, he released a miasma of pure, magical energy.

And then, his change began.

His body began to deform, bones growing and snapping to different positions, while new ones formed to create entire limbs where once was nothing. His skin grew pale and soft while new layers of hard material grew over it. It did not hurt, but was the strangest feeling he had ever experienced.

Once he had grown truly massive, his new layer of "skin" blackened and became almost crystalline, shining brilliantly in the sunlight. His scales. His skular. They were black as a shadow on the darkest of nights.

Shadow. Sundavr.

Enormous wings grew from his back, and his eyes turned to a brilliant blue. Black spikes and horns grew from him, talons replacing his nails.

Eventually, his transformation was complete. The elders could only watch in awe.

'Sundavrskular,' said Uriax. 'Welcome. It had been a long time since one of your kind came into this world.'

* * *

Short chapter. Long wait. Life problems. Sorry.


End file.
